


i've been learning to drive (my whole life)

by heartwasalegend



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Quinn centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartwasalegend/pseuds/heartwasalegend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen of the most important car rides of Quinn Fabray's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been learning to drive (my whole life)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I haven't watched the show since "On My Way", so it's more or less AU after that point, including the extent of Quinn's injuries.

_one._

It’s sitting on her driveway, shiny and new, when she gets home from her first practice as captain of the Cheerios.

Her father’s car has barely rolled to a stop beside it when she opens her door and scrambles out of the backseat, bee-lining straight for it. Her parents are not far behind her, watching and laughing as she reverently runs her hands over the bright red paint.

“Is this - ?” Her voice shakes in anticipation. She can’t bring herself to ask the whole question because as long as she doesn’t know the answer she can pretend that – 

“It’s all yours, Quinnie,” her mother says, clapping her hands together softly. 

Her father’s hand falls heavily on her shoulder. “A little congratulations for making it so far this year.”

She tenses, just a little, at his meaning. This car is hers not necessarily because of what she’s done, but because of who she is now. Still, it’s hard to be upset when she has her own car and no longer has to count on her parents to drive her around. They’d bought her sister one when she’d made captain, but that had been during her senior year. 

Quinn can’t wait to finally have something to rub into Frannie’s perfect, naturally beautiful face.

“Can I?” she asks softly.

A set of keys dangles in front of her face a moment later. She reaches for them only to have her father snatch them away.

“Careful, hm?” he says.

She nods eagerly and he finally relents and presses the keys into her hands.

“Have fun, darling!” her mother says as Quinn slips into the front seat.

The engine purrs to life under her hands and for a moment she doesn’t do anything except feel the vibrations run gently through her body. She puts it into reverse, and eases off the brake pedal. It starts to roll backwards down the drive and she knows she should turn around and make sure the way is clear, but she can’t tear her eyes away from her parents. Her mother is tucked firmly under her father’s arm and they both look – 

They look so _proud_ of her. She can’t remember the last time they looked at her like this, and for a second, she wants to cut the engine and stay with them – bask in it. 

Her father’s expression slips slightly as he gestures at her with a tilt of his head. She nods lightly and turns, steering carefully off the drive and on to the street. She puts it into drive, with a little wave at her parents, and then steps on the gas. It jerks a little, much more responsive than the cars she’s practiced in, but a few blocks later she’s adjusted well enough.

She drives aimlessly for a long while, turning when she feels like it, only stopping when she absolutely has to. 

Before long she finds herself pulling on to Finn’s street. They’ve only been together a few weeks, but it seems right that he be the first to see her new car.

He’s out on the front lawn, tossing a football around with that idiot Noah Puckerman. Her boyfriend’s best friend is nothing but a big fat thorn in her side. She rolls her eyes and then pulls up at the end of his lawn. Puck spots her first and smirks like the asshole he is.

She rolls down her window and calls Finn’s name. He turns and his face lights up.

“Hey, Quinn!” he calls, jogging towards her. He leans over and sticks his head in the window to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Your parents get a new car or something?”

Quinn grins, “All mine, actually.”

Puck saunters up and whistles a low note. “Nice ride.”

Quinn shoots him a dirty look and turns back to Finn. “You wanna go to the Lima Bean?”

“Yeah!” Finn says. “Puck, we’re going to the Lima Bean, you in?”

Puck runs a hand over his mohawk and shrugs. “Fine, but I get shotgun.”

Finn looks like he wants to protest but Puck slugs him in the shoulder and slips into the front seat before either he or Quinn can say anything. Finn shoots Quinn a sheepish look and hops in the back.

Puck starts fiddling with the radio almost immediately while Quinn puts the car back in drive. Just as she’s pulling away from the curb Puck’s arm brushes hers on the center console and she reflexively steps down hard on the gas. The car jerks, sending Finn flying into the back of her seat. Puck grins at her a little before turning to Finn and launching into a discussion about the team they’re up against Friday night.

Quinn sighs and does her best to ignore their juvenile little promises to crush those ‘ankle grabbers’ from Kenton. 

Everyone knows the only reason anyone goes to those games is to see the Cheerios anyways.

Puck reaches for the radio again, and this time when he brushes against her he doesn’t pull away. The pressure against her skin is warm and she knows she should move but she can’t shake the feeling that that’s what he wants her to do. Their eyes meet for a moment and there’s a clear challenge there. Before she can do anything about it Finn’s enormous head ducks between them and they both pull away.

“I love this song,” he explains, reaching to crank the volume.

It’s some ridiculous old rock song, but Quinn smiles indulgently when Finn starts singing along softly in the back seat.

“Dude,” Puck says, shooting him an incredulous look. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

Finn says, “Whatever man,” but Quinn notices that he stops singing after that.

When they get to the Lima Bean, Puck and Finn race out of the car and towards the doors, shoving each other the entire way.

Quinn takes a second alone to settle her rattled nerves. She rubs at her arm where it had brushed against Puck’s. Her whole body has felt prickly-hot since then and she can’t quite figure out what that means. 

Whatever it is, she’s pretty sure it’s nothing good.

 

 

 _two._

She probably should have just waited inside. 

It takes two minutes, according to the box. One hundred and twenty seconds. Not even enough time to pull off the easiest routine in Sylvester’s playbook.

She’d only made it about thirty-five seconds in that gas station bathroom before it felt like the walls were closing in. The smell of cheap cleaning products and the elevator music blaring, tinny through cheap speakers, made her sick to her stomach. If not the smell, then even just that knowing little grin on the guy at the front desk’s face when he handed over the test would have been enough to send her running.

Even so, she should have stayed. She shouldn’t be driving in this state.

The test is sitting on the passenger seat.

Six minutes and counting, and she still can’t bring herself to check.

If her whole world is coming to end, she at least wants it to end somewhere better than the Shell station three blocks west of McKinley. 

She accelerates through a yellow light, and then just barely squeaks through a second and she’s away. There’s only one other stoplight before she hits the city limits, and never once in her life has she seen it be anything other than a flashing yellow. There’s nothing out there to aim for but quilt-patterned pastures and farmland. But it’s about the quietest place in the world, if you don’t have anything against cattle, and quiet is what she needs most right now.

The last few houses give way and the tightness in her chest dissipates a little. She sucks in a few shaky breaths and drives until she feels far enough away to deal with that little stick sitting on her passenger seat. 

She pulls off the highway onto a little dirt road that dead ends at the edge of field dotted with dairy cows. They don’t look like they’re the fighting type, so she kills the engine. Her right hand closes around the pregnancy test and she steps out of the car without looking at it. 

A few cows turn at the sound of her door slamming shut, and shuffle uneasily as she approaches. She wishes there was some way to communicate that she’s not here to bother them. She has much, much bigger fish to fry.

She wonders if they can smell fear. She’s sure she reeks of it.

Her fingers clench tighter around the stick in her hands. It’s only about six inches long but carries about as much metaphorical weight as a freight train. She stares out into the field and counts out two minutes, even though the test has been ready for about fifteen now. After one slow, solemn exhale, she looks.

The little pink plus sign looks back at her for all of ten seconds before her instincts kick in and she launches it as far as her faltering strength allows. It sails to rest about five feet away from the closest cow. It watches her with impassive eyes, as she screams every single obscenity she can think of into a blue and indifferent sky.

 

 

 _three._

“Quinn?”

She can’t talk to him right now. It’s all she can do to keep her hands on the steering wheel and her eyes on the road. She can’t look at him in that stupid blazer and that tie – that stupid tie that for some reason she can only think of as looking obscenely hopeful – and she just can’t. Not when her trunk and backseat are full of everything the two of them could pack and carry while her parents sat silently in front of the TV. It was like she had completely ceased to exist.

“Quinn,” he says again. “Are you okay?”

And Finn’s truck is still parked on her street, and they’re going to have to go back for it, and she’s going to have to look at her house and know that her parents are inside and that they – 

“It’s just – you don’t look so good,” he says. “Maybe I should drive.”

Maybe. Maybe he should because come to think of it she doesn’t feel so good, and she can’t remember if she stopped at that last stop sign and there’s a baby growing inside her and – shit.

Shit.

The car makes an awful grinding noise when she slams it into park but everything she just put in her stomach is coming right back up and she doesn’t really have time to worry about the mechanics. She throws up all over the middle of the road, keys still in the ignition, car still running. 

Finn gets to her right when she runs out of dinner to paint the street with. She stumbles a little, and starts to sink towards the ground, and he only just manages to steer her away from the mess she’s made. His arms go around her immediately and he pulls her against his chest.

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking boyishly. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

She can hear his heart thumping through his shirt. Its pace suggests that they are absolutely not going to be okay.

His hand rubs slow circles across her back and it’s the first time she’s really appreciated how truly gargantuan Finn is. She feels – safer, all of sudden, cradled in his arms like this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shoulders slumping. “I just thought – well, we can’t do this alone, you know? I thought maybe they might be able to help us out. I’m such an idiot.” 

“My parents aren’t like your mom, Finn,” Quinn breathes into his chest. 

“I know,” he says softly, pulling away enough to look at her. “But they’re wrong, okay? And they’ll figure that out someday and feel awful about doing this to you.”

She doesn’t think that’s very likely.

He takes her face in his hands and says, “It’s going to be okay. We don’t need them.”

His voice and his face are so sincere. She knows it’s naïve to believe what he’s saying, but she’s been living with the alternative for weeks now and it hasn’t done her any good. 

“You’re going to be a really good dad,” she says. She almost adds ‘someday’, because every single cell in her body is howling at her to just _tell him_. He’s going to find out eventually and he’s going to be crushed and she’s going to lose him. 

She opens her mouth to say something but then Finn just looks at her and says, “You too.”

His face scrunches up a moment later, when his words catch up to him. “Well like - not a dad obviously because you’re you know – you can’t be a dad because – “

He stops talking, shakes his head and after a beat he says, “You’re going to be a great mom, Quinn.”

She’s sixteen and she’s lying about the father and the only real role model she has to work off just stood by and watched her pack her things. As far as being a mother goes, she’s not off to great start. 

He believes in her, though. She can see it on his face and she _loves_ this Finn Hudson. The one who has never met a lost cause he didn’t want to blindly fight for, however tragically misguided it might be.

Maybe it’s cruel, and maybe it’s selfish, but he’s all she has right now. She can’t lose him. Not yet.

She passes him her keys and tries her very best to smile. 

 

 

 _four._

Quinn was a fussy baby.

Or, at least, Lucy was. 

Quinn had emerged from the ether, a fully formed adolescent tyrant, but Lucy had a harder time adjusting to the world.

She was cranky and hard to soothe and never seemed to sleep for more than an hour or so at a time. She didn’t like being sung to, or being swaddled, or being held too close, or left alone too long. In her first few months of life her mother put in more calls to their pediatrician than any other new mom in town. Judy was assured again and again that there was nothing wrong with her little girl, that she was just a little difficult, but that it would probably quiet down with time.

With another little girl and a growing business, time wasn’t a luxury the Fabrays could afford.

They did have a car though, and in the end that was all it took. She had no real affinity for toys, or music, or pacifiers, but she _loved_ riding in the car. Nothing cut down her crying more, or put her to sleep faster than a good, long car ride.

In the first year of her life, the Fabrays went through more tanks of gas than any year thereafter. 

Quinn has no real memory of it now, only knows it because it became part of her personal mythology, before they all stopped talking about her childhood altogether.

Two hours ago Beth was driven off to her new home and Quinn can only speculate at this point, whether she’ll love the drive or hate it. 

Puck takes her hand and that little wisp of a thought dissolves at the sudden warmth of his palm closing over hers. His face is tilted towards the window but she can tell that he’s watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Puck was a good baby. His mother told Quinn that again and again with this little glint in her eye that really didn’t take a genius to read. Despite whatever problems Puck went on to have, he was _loved_ by his mother from the very first moment of his life. 

She glances away from their joined hands and meets her own mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Judy glances away almost immediately, and Quinn wonders if she’s thinking about all those car rides they took together when Quinn was still Lucy. She wonders if her mother even remembers. 

Quinn tilts her forehead against the cool glass of the car window and tries to imagine being very small. She tries to focus on the cradle of the suspension as the car sails down the street, but try as she might she can’t capture whatever feeling it is she loved so much back then. 

Her hand curves unconsciously over her stomach and she wonders at all the different ways there are to feel empty.

She pulls her other hand away from Puck’s grasp and tucks it in against her body. She closes her eyes and thinks as hard as she can, _'I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’_

She’s not even sure who she’s saying it to anymore.

 

 

 _five._

If there’s one thing to be said for a place as small as Lima, it’s that ‘traffic’ isn’t even part of the local vocabulary. At its busiest, you can drive through the entire town, end to end, in twenty minutes. It also means that Quinn can sit at this stop sign as long as she wants, because chances are, nobody will come around to make her move.

She should move.

She should take a left, head down Mulberry to Stafford and pull into the second house on the right. The one with the uneven driveway. Sam’s house. He’s still her boyfriend after all, even if – 

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel and her head tilts forward to rest between them. She’s having a hard time believing she’s in this situation again. She should know better.

She can’t help but wonder if that’s why Finn pushed so hard for this. It’s not like there isn’t a precedent, here. But then again, she’s having a hard time blaming him. She knew what she was getting into, asking him to meet her in the auditorium. 

After Sam walked her to that stupid, juvenile little kissing booth, to prove that there was something going on between her and Finn, something just clicked.

There had been fireworks, but there was something else too. It felt different than the last time she’d kissed him, like something fundamental had changed. He didn’t – 

He didn’t feel like _hers_ anymore. 

And that’s precisely why she asked him to meet her in the auditorium. The idea that Finn belonged to someone else was just – unthinkable. After all the work she put in, molding him into exactly what she needed him to be, the simple idea that that insufferable, toddler of an ex-girlfriend of his had staked some claim on him – 

Well, it just wouldn’t do.

She knows she’s hurting people. She’s not stupid.

But she’s lost too many things of hers in the past two years to let this one go.

She eases off the brake and takes a right. The clock on her satellite radio reads 6:15 PM. When they’d left the auditorium earlier, Finn had said he’d have the house to himself until at least nine.

As the trees lining his street slip past her window she thinks about the things she does because she wants to, and the things she does because she _can_ , and wonders why they’re never, ever the same thing.

 

 

 _six._

The grass at the community center is the same crumpled-looking brown as the rest of the lawns in town. It’s been the driest summer on record and the water rationing instituted last month hasn’t done much for the scenery. Everything looks like its just dying to go up in flames. 

Quinn learned that the hard way yesterday when her cigarette caused a minor blaze behind her garage. She’d managed to stamp it out with her combat boots, but she’d had to move around some lawn gnomes to cover the scorch marks.

The water rationing has been great for one thing, though. The pink in her hair has lasted much longer than it would have with daily showering. The overall grimy factor isn’t hurting her look either.

She starts at the sharp rap of knuckles on her driver’s side window. She can hear him laughing at her as she rolls it down.

“Hey, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss her. 

She turns her head at the last moment and hisses, “Don’t call me baby.”

He just laughs and swings around to the passenger side. She unlocks the door and he climbs in, tossing his dusty skateboard into the backseat. 

“Thanks for picking me up,” he says with a lecherous grin. “Where we headed princess?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. They only ever go to one place, so she throws the car into gear and reverses out of the parking lot. He plugs his phone into her iPod jack and starts cranking some incomprehensible punk music. She tries her best to drown it out by repeating her times tables in her head. 

Two songs later she pulls into the little lane behind his mother’s house and tucks her car into the shade of the trees growing along the edges of the backyard. She has barely pulled to a stop before he starts climbing into the backseat. 

“Come on, Quinnie,” he says with a laugh. 

She sighs but follows after him, landing in his lap. He leans up to kiss her and she lets him. His lips are too soft, too yielding, so she sinks her hands into his hair and pushes against his body as hard as she can. Sometimes she has to remind him what this is. 

He takes the hint and flips them, laying Quinn out across the length of the seat. He goes for her shirt right away, pulling it up and sending bright pink hair flying out in every direction. His hands are soft as they span her waist, so much smoother than a 40-year-old man’s hands have any right to be. She thinks about how they’re the hands of someone who spends too much time in his mother’s basement, someone who has never had to work for anything in his life. 

She presses her teeth into his lips and lets his boy-hands slip up the inside of her thigh.

 

The hood of her car is searing hot against her bare legs, but she kind of likes how it feels. It’s the same burn currently crackling through her lungs every time she takes a drag off her cigarette. The few cows dotting the field in front of her look on, swatting flies away with their tails. The grass crunches beneath their feet every time they shift.

She blows a few rings into the dead, summer air. He taught her how to do that.

As she sucks down another lungful of smoke, she wonders how it’s possible to feel like she’s drowning when there’s a not a drop of water for miles. 

 

 

 _seven._

She’s shaken out of her brooding stupor by the passenger door swinging open. Mercedes slips in the car a second later and Quinn shifts in her seat, uneager to have whatever conversation she’s in for. She notices that Mercedes has not one, but two dress bags draped across her lap. 

“I was kind of worried you’d left,” Mercedes says in lieu of greeting.

“Well, I drove you here, so,” Quinn mumbles in return, still eyeing the dresses. “I won’t need that you know.”

Mercedes shoots her a look. “You need to watch yourself, Quinn. What you’re doing to Rachel is just not cool.”

“Oh what,” Quinn laughs bitterly. “You think this wedding is a good idea?”

“Of course I don’t,” Mercedes replies. “But it’s their mistake to make. If you keep acting so damn prickly about it, Rachel is just gonna push you away.”

Quinn snorts. “And why would I care if she does that? I’d prefer it actually. Anything to get away from this mess.”

“She’s your friend, Quinn,” Mercedes says. “And lord knows I think the girl is insane, but she’s gonna need us if this all goes sour.”

Quinn turns the key in the ignition and revs the motor a little just to drown Mercedes out and give herself time to think. She shifts the car into drive and a few seconds later, the bridal store is disappearing in her rearview mirror.

“He’s going to ruin her life,” Quinn says finally. “And she’s going to ruin his. You think people who get married at 17 ever get out of this town? They’ll get stuck, and you know it.”

“Maybe,” Mercedes concedes. “But it’s not our place to – “

“See,” Quinn pushes. “You know this is a bad idea. All of you do, but you’re leaving me to play the bad guy.”

“Quinn, I think we’re all just trying to trust in the fact that they love each other and want to be together.”

“That’s bullshit,” Quinn says. “You’re just afraid to say what everybody already knows. The only reason they’re getting married is that they’re scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of real life,” Quinn replies, exasperated. “Finn is scared because he has no idea what he’s doing and he thinks he’ll wind up like his dad, and Rachel is scared because she has about a one percent shot at succeeding at the only thing she’s ever really wanted. They’re just trying to hold on to something familiar, because they’re scared.”

Mercedes stares at her for a moment, before she quietly says, “Don’t you feel like maybe that’s really easy for you to say, you know, since you just got into Yale and all?”

Quinn digs her nails into the soft leather of her steering wheel and through gritted teeth says, “Don’t tell me that I don’t know what it’s like to deal with uncertainty. I know better than anyone what that feels like.”

Mercedes sighs. “I know you do, Quinn. I wasn’t trying to say that you don’t. But don’t you think you should cut them a little slack? Try and support them anyways?”

“No,” Quinn says bluntly. “And I don’t understand how you can.”

She pulls into Mercedes’ driveway and throws the car into park. Mercedes doesn’t move to get out, but lays a hand on Quinn’s arm. Her muscles flex against the touch, not ready to be soothed just yet.

“Look,” Mercedes says, waiting for Quinn to meet her eyes before going on. “You know you’re my girl, but Rachel is too, and I have to have her back on this one. Maybe you don’t agree with it, but you know you owe her a little support.”

Quinn turns away, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

“I’ll never be okay with this.”

Mercedes smiles. “You don’t have to be. You just have to put on a hideous dress and show up.”

Quinn manages a little smile at that. “They are pretty atrocious.”

“Come on,” Mercedes says, tugging lightly at Quinn’s sleeve. “Come inside for a visit. Everyone would love to see you.”

“That sounds great,” Quinn says, and means it.

 

 

 _eight._

In the grand scheme of things, Quinn figures lying about having to go home for her dress is pretty small change compared to most of the other lies she’s told.

Truthfully, going to this wedding wasn’t a decision she took lightly, and as much as she wants to support Rachel, she needs a little time to psych herself up for it. She’s going to have to spend the rest of the day biting her tongue, and that’s not exactly something that comes easily to her. 

The dress is lying across her backseat and it’s been there since the day she stormed out of the bridal salon. It’s probably wrinkled and very possibly sun damaged, but under the circumstances, they’re all just going to have to take what they can get.

The last time she was out here she had hair almost the exact same color as that dress. It’s probably weird to have so many associations with a colour she’s never liked all that much.

The sun is beaming down on her car, heating up the metal of her hood and she has to tuck her legs up to avoid getting burned. The flaps of her Cheerios skirt splay out over her lap and she fights the urge to smooth them into place.

She doesn’t want to be _that_ Quinn anymore. She’s trying to not take everything so seriously these days. It’s the only way to move on.

Her phone rattles against the hood as a text message comes through. It’s from Rachel. She wants to know how long Quinn will be.

It’s later than she thought it was. She still has enough time to make it, if she leaves now.

She swings her legs over the side and scoots off her car. She leans in the open driver’s side window and reaches for the dress bag in the backseat. 

She lays it over the hood of her car and starts to unzip her uniform. A stray moo from the field halts her progress and she glances up, only to meet the unwavering gazes of a half a dozen cows.

She laughs a little, but slips out of her skirt and top anyways.

They’ve seen her in far worse shape.

 

She’s upside down and she can’t remember why.

There’s a tiny feeling pulling at her brain, telling her she did something wrong but she can’t quite reach it. There’s a voice calling her name, and it sounds like someone she knows, it’s her – 

But that can’t be right. Her mother wasn’t in the car.

“Oh god, oh god – it’s a kid.”

She doesn’t know the voice, after all. 

“Is she okay? Honey, can you answer me? Say something!”

She wants to, really she does but she’s forgotten how. Her mouth is filled with something bitter and dark and she can’t – 

“Look, look! Her eyes are opening! It’s okay sweetheart help is on the way.”

_On my way._

She’s going to be late, she’s going to miss – miss something and they’re – 

– someone will be upset. She’s supposed to be somewhere.

Someone is pulling her and they have to stop because she’s going somewhere. She doesn’t have time for this.

There’s a hole where her window used to be and firm hands are guiding her through it. 

“Watch her neck, keep her steady until we can get a backboard under her.”

She doesn’t know that voice either.

She opens her eyes and there are so many people around her she doesn’t know.

“There she is,” they say, all together or maybe not at all. “That’s a good girl, keep looking at me.” 

She wants to but the sky behind their heads is so big and impossibly blue and she’s never – 

she’s never seen 

such – 

.

 

 

 _nine._

People don’t talk to Quinn now.

They talk around her.

“We’ve given her something for the pain, which will also probably put her to sleep for the ride home.”

Her doctor and her mother are always doing this now. Speaking in barely hushed voices, like the accident also knocked out her ability to hear. Or maybe they just think she can’t understand them, anymore.

“Given the state of her ribs and her wrist, we can’t exactly get her up on crutches. We’ll start physiotherapy in a few weeks, maybe get her into a walking cast, see if we can have her out of the chair in time to start up school again.”

Her mother’s voice is worried. “They’ve sent home some schoolwork for her but honestly – “

“I wouldn’t worry about that just yet if I were you,” her doctor interjects. “There’s no reason to think she won’t regain everything she’s lost, but there’s also no reason to rush it. School will always be there. Let her take it at her own pace.”

Her head is starting to cloud over with that sweet, soft lull of medication she’s come to know so well in the past few weeks. It’s taking every ounce of her resolve not to slump over in the chair.

“Look, here’s your ride.”

Quinn manages to lift a heavy eyelid in time to see a van pull in to the hospital’s pick-up lane. It’s white and clinical looking, like just about everything else she’s laid eyes on since she finally woke up. There’s a little decal of a person in a wheelchair on the side and it takes her a moment to remember that that’s _her_ now. 

Someone pushes her chair forward through the sliding glass doors and eases her over to where a lift is descending from the side of the van.

She hears squealing tires and shattering glass and has to shut her eyes again, because no matter what her doctors think she’s not ready, she’s not ready, she’s not ready – 

A warm hand curves over her shoulder and her doctor’s familiar voice sounds just to her right, “Next time we see each other, it’s no more fun and games young lady. It’ll be time to get to work.”

She’s sure it’s supposed to be a rousing statement but she can’t focus on it because they’re lifting her into the vehicle and she has to protest. Has to slow this down. They can’t really expect her to – 

The medication settles in full force now. She can feel it creeping in behind her eyelids, _heavy, heavy._

She should tell them to stop buckling her in, but it’s so hard to open her mouth. 

The whoosh of blood in her ears is blunted, and dull and the only thing she can still do is let go. 

 

 

_ten._

“Okay, have a great first day back sweetheart,” her mother says, planting a kiss to the top of Quinn’s head. “Please call me if you need anything.”

Quinn perks up from her bowl of cereal. “Wait, what? Aren’t you driving me?”

Judy stops in her tracks. “Oh did I forget to mention? I have to be in early today, but a friend of yours called and offered to pick you up.”

“Who?”

“You know – “ Judy winces apologetically. “I don’t remember the name. A girl from that glee club, I think?”

“Mercedes?”

“Maybe?” Her mother shrugs. “Listen, I hate to leave like this, but I really do have to get going. Your friend should be here at 7:50. She was very specific about it, so if you feel up to it, maybe you could wait outside?”

“Okay,” Quinn mumbles softly. “Have a good day.”

Her mother looks at her for a long moment, like she wants to say something, but instead she just smiles and turns to go. 

Ever since she’s been a little more mobile, her doctors have been encouraging Judy to let Quinn do things on her own. That advice has mostly just translated to a lot of hovering and staring, and frankly, Quinn can’t wait to get out of the house just to have a break from it.

The clock on the oven reads 7:45 so Quinn takes a few more bites of cereal and then maneuvers to her feet. She’s only allowed out of the chair when she’s at home and walking relatively short distances. She’ll need it at school today.

So that’ll be fun.

They keep it in the garage nowadays, so after grabbing her bag, she heads there. She hits the light switch, and another button, and the garage door shudders into motion. The chair is facing the open door, ready to go and she shoots it a dirty look while reminding herself that it’ll only be around a few more weeks.

She hooks her bag across the back of it and settles into the seat. 

At that very moment a van she doesn’t recognize pulls into her driveway. The question of whether or not Mercedes’ family got a new vehicle is barely formed in her mind, when it shatters completely as Rachel Berry steps out of the driver’s seat.

Quinn hits a button and then pushes forward on the joystick clasped in her right hand. As the chair rolls forward she sees Rachel’s face screw up, for just a second, before it smoothes over into something approximating composed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Berry,” Quinn says, pulling to a stop. “I just can’t wheel because of this,” she holds up her left wrist and gestures to the cast.

“Of course,” Rachel says, voice straining under the weight of what Quinn is positive is false brightness. “If you could just – um, wheel over to the side. I can get you on the lift.”

“Can I ask why you have a wheelchair equipped van?” 

Rachel smiles a little and fiddles with the controls, until the lift drops down out of the open side door. 

“My uncle is doctor over in Van Wert,” Rachel replies. “I kind of – called in a favour.” 

Quinn falters at that. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rachel says with a shrug. 

It is, but Quinn’s not really in the mood to get into it. She gets her chair in place and then goes to get to her feet.

“Whoa!” Rachel cries, stepping towards her with outstretched hands.

“Back off, Rachel,” Quinn snaps, softening immediately when Rachel flinches. “I mean – it’s okay. I can walk a little, now. I don’t need to ride in the chair.“ 

Rachel looks sufficiently cowed, and she manages to only hover around Quinn a little as she limps over to the passenger seat and gets in.

 

They barely make it down the driveway when Quinn’s hands start to tremble. It’s a habit she hasn’t been able to shake since the accident. It’s getting better with every ride, but it’s by no means under control. She folds her hands together in an effort to keep Rachel from noticing.

She does, but she doesn’t say anything. Quinn can tell by the tone of her voice when she starts talking.

“So, Santana got reprimanded yesterday,” she says, her tone even and measured exactly to take Quinn’s mind off the ride. “She’s been handing in Spanish assignments with your name on them.”

Quinn smiles a little at that. “Is she in trouble?”

“Hardly,” Rachel replies. “Coach Sylvester stepped in, naturally. Although, she drew a line when Brittany tried to dress up like you for gym class one day. Apparently she was worried you’d lose the credit.”

“That must have been something.”

Rachel laughs. “It was pretty good actually. She’s a decent mimic.”

They carry on like that for a few minutes before pulling up to a stop sign. A car to their left pulls out and Rachel eases off the brake a little. Quinn seizes up immediately as the car passes in front of them. Images of twisted steel and glass scattered across concrete flash, rapid-fire through her head and it’s only Rachel’s voice that pulls her out.

“Quinn,” she says, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re – you’re shaking.”

She can’t get the words out just yet so she just nods.

Rachel shifts the car into park and hits the hazards.

They sit like that through half of first period before Quinn even notices that Rachel isn’t wearing a ring.

 

 

 _eleven._

“Did you have a good time?”

Quinn flinches a little, startled by the sound of Rachel’s voice. She’s been more or less mute all night, even at the party. 

“I guess,” Quinn says. “Thanks for driving me. Sorry my mom made you.”

Rachel smiles a little and hangs a right down Chester Street. “She may have suggested it but she hardly made me, Quinn. Besides, I think was a good idea. You’ve been so cooped up lately, and everybody’s been missing you.”

They had seemed happy to see her, if a little surprised that she showed up with Rachel Berry of all people. 

“I’d forgotten how weird it is to be at a party and not drink,” Quinn admits. “At least this time nobody asked why I was sticking to juice. When I was pregnant – well I had to get a little creative.”

“I’m sure.” 

They fall quiet and Quinn resumes her careful study of the deserted Lima streets. It’s only just twelve and it looks like the entire town has already called it a night. As they make their way down her street, Quinn notices that her house is one of very few that are still lit up. Her mom must be up waiting for her.

Rachel’s car lurches a little as she pulls into the drive. Quinn’s wrist moves too quickly in the wrong direction and she feels a sharp tug of pain. She reaches for it instinctively with her good hand.

Rachel shifts the car into park and quickly says, “Are you okay?”

Quinn smiles weakly. “Fine.”

Rachel watches her intently for a long moment. “Does it hurt?”

“No it just - “

“It’s broken, of course it does,” Rachel interrupts, her voice taking on a weird edge. “Shattered is actually more apt. Shattered wrist, three broken ribs, fractured tibia, collapsed lung, bleeding in your abdomen, swelling in your brain – “

“Rachel, stop,” Quinn says quietly.

Rachel’s mouth clamps shut and her head dips towards her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s just not that fun to think about,” Quinn replies.

“No I mean I’m _sorry_ ,” Rachel says, turning to face Quinn with what look like tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry that that happened to you and I’m sorry that I’m such a coward and I’m so, so sorry I didn’t come see you in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

Quinn shifts uneasily in her seat. After all this time, she’d figured _that_ would just be something they’d never mention. There’s a lump growing in her throat that’s making it hard to speak without her voice shaking.

“Why didn’t you come?” Quinn asks. “I mean, I’m not – like mad or anything but – I thought we were sort of friends and you were the only one who didn’t show.”

Rachel brushes at her cheeks with her hands and turns away. “I – that day. The day of the – the wedding. I was _so_ angry with you. I mean, I was so excited when you said you would come and then you were so late. You were _so_ late that it didn’t even make sense. Even if you had to go home to get your dress there was just no way that you could be that late.” She pauses there, and takes a breath that sounds like it hurts her. “I thought that – I convinced myself that you were doing it on purpose. That this was your last way of ruining my wedding day.”

“Oh,” Quinn says, biting down on the inside of her cheek. She’d never even considered that.

“There’s more,” Rachel says. “I also – I still really wanted to you to show. I think in a lot of ways I _needed_ you to be there. You were always the one to point out what a colossally stupid idea the whole thing was, and I thought that – if you were there - if you came, then it was proof that I wasn’t ruining my life by marrying him. And that just made me even more upset, because I didn’t want to need your approval as much as I did.”

Rachel pauses there, and rubs her sleeve across her eyes. 

“When we got the call, all we knew was that you’d been in an accident, and that it was bad,” Rachel says. “Mr. Schue told us all to go home – he told us that the hospital had said we wouldn’t be allowed to see you for hours – that he’d call us when he knew more. It was the strangest thing – nobody even mentioned what Finn and I had almost done. We all just left – went home with our families and I – I couldn’t stop thinking about how it was my fault. That I had texted you and rushed you and thought _awful_ things about you – ”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Rachel shoots her a look, just barely readable in the dark. “I’ve already gotten that speech from both of my fathers and half the glee club. It hasn’t worked yet so I’d save your breath.”

Quinn tries to protest again, but Rachel ignores her and goes on.

“I knew that I couldn’t go to the hospital – couldn’t go see you laid up in that bed without _knowing_ that I had put you there. I just couldn’t face it and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

Rachel falls quiet at that, but the way her whole body looks shrunken in on itself speaks volumes. It wasn’t the kind of apology that makes a person feel better or freer. She looks miserable.

“I don’t know what I can say to you to make you understand that it wasn’t your fault,” Quinn says, working hard to sound as sincere as she’s being. “But just know that I don’t, and I’ve never, blamed you for what happened. You didn’t cause it, and you couldn’t have stopped it and I hope that you believe that some day.”

Rachel sort of laughs and shakes her head. “I’ll try, I guess.”

“I hope you do,” Quinn replies. “And I hope you don’t – feel like you need to do anything to make it up to me. You don’t need to drive me to school or take me to parties. You don’t need to try to earn my forgiveness, because there’s nothing to forgive.”

Movement to her right catches Quinn’s eye and she notices her mother stepping out onto the porch. She waves and Quinn and Rachel dutifully wave back.

“I should get inside,” Quinn says. “Are we okay?”

Rachel straightens a little and puts on a smile that reads at least halfway genuine. “Of course. I’ll pick you up on Monday for school.”

“You don’t – “

“I’ll be here at 7:50 sharp,” Rachel cuts her off. “Don’t forget your sheet music for glee club.”

“Okay,” Quinn says with a little laugh. “I’ll see you then.”

 

 

 _twelve._

“Where are you taking me?”

Rachel glances over at her with a slightly infuriating grin and says, “It’s a surprise.”

The car lurches a little over a bump in the highway and Quinn flinches. “I hate surprises.”

Rachel looks a little apologetic as they sail over another rough patch of concrete. “Well I love them and since I’m driving you’re unfortunately out of luck.”

“Great,” Quinn sighs. “Can you at least give me a hint? We’re like an hour and a half outside of town and I’m getting a little concerned you’re driving me somewhere remote to kill me.”

“Please,” Rachel says. “As if I would ever plan a crime so sloppily. Your mother knows we’re together and I haven’t even organized an alibi.”

Quinn shoots Rachel an incredulous look. 

“Sorry,” Rachel mumbles sheepishly. “My dads are really into Dexter.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need to know where you’re taking me,” Quinn says.

Rachel shrugs and looks at Quinn with apologetic eyes. “I know this must be driving you insane, but I think it’ll be worth it. We’re almost there.”

 

‘There’, winds up being what Quinn is pretty sure must be the last drive-in movie theatre on the planet. Rachel looks absurdly pleased with herself as they pull into their spot. She immediately reaches into the backseat and pulls out what Quinn had assumed was her school bag. It’s actually filled with pillows and blankets and disturbingly, what looks like apple chips.

Rachel finally notices Quinn staring and offers her a little smile.

“I thought – I just thought that maybe it would help. To do something fun in a car, you know?” she says quietly. “You deserve better memories. I figured this was a good place to start.”

Quinn has no idea how to respond to that, really. Everyone has been so supportive since the accident but this –

This is something else entirely.

“How – “ Quinn clears her throat softly. “How did you even find this place?”

“Actually,” Rachel says, fussing with the blankets and the radio. “I found it when I was researching date ideas for – for Finn and I.”

“Oh.”

“We never ended up coming here and – “ Rachel’s fingers still on the volume dial. “I don’t think we ever will, now.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says.

Rachel shakes her head and smiles. “It’s for the best. We just don’t make sense anymore. We stopped a long time ago, really.”

A heavy silence sits in the air between for a few seconds and Quinn thinks about how strange it is that her and Rachel Berry have the same first love. She thinks about how that love always seems to loom so large in people’s lives, and how bizarre it is that the first boy she ever loved almost married the girl who used to be her worst enemy. It’s a little too much actually, so she opts to change the subject.

“So, are we getting popcorn?”

Rachel claps her hands together, brightening substantially. “I brought some great vegan snacks from home! I have these apple chips that are just to die for.”

Quinn pulls a face and says, “You can’t watch a movie without popcorn.”

“But – the apple chips – “

“Are an insult to movies,” Quinn interjects. “And apples. And basically all snacks for that matter. This is about making happy memories right? I promise you, I will be miserable without popcorn.”

Rachel visibly struggles for a moment before relenting with a sigh. “And I suppose you expect me to go get it, right?”

“I’m basically an invalid, Rachel,” Quinn replies. 

Rachel rolls her eyes but heads off anyways. As the door slams behind her, Quinn distinctly makes out Rachel muttering, “It’s called a _walking_ cast for a reason.”

Quinn laughs through the previews.

 

 

 _thirteen._

So maybe she hasn’t exactly cleared this with her doctor. 

But she’s had the walking cast off for a week now, and her wrist is in good enough shape to at least rest on the steering wheel. It’s not like she has to do a whole lot of skilled maneuvering anyways. Rachel’s house is barely three blocks away. Worse come to worst they can just switch spots for the rest of the ride to school.

Her mom is off today, so really, this is the only shot she’ll have at the car for a while.

She’s gone over this in her head a thousand times. It feels a lot like the first time she ever got behind the wheel of a car. She’s completely terrified, but determined, too.

Her mother is shorter than her so she has to adjust pretty much everything from the steering column to the mirrors. She turns the key all the way and feels the motor rev to life under her hands. They start to tremble and she almost turns it off and gives up right then. 

A glance at the clock tells her it’s almost 7:40. She has to do this _now_ or she won’t be able to catch Rachel before she leaves to pick her up.

There’s only three days left of classes, so it has to be _now_.

She gives herself a minute to settle down. She focuses on the swell of her lungs beneath ribs that still ache a little if she breathes in too hard, and still deeper: the comforting throb of her heart. After everything, it’s still there, thumping away like it’s never been wounded at all. 

She shifts the car into gear, and she’s gone.

 

She pulls up in front of Rachel’s house at the exact moment she’s stepping out the front door. Rachel eyes the car for a long moment before her gaze seems to snap into focus, and her mouth drops open. Quinn gingerly steps out of the car with a grin.

“Surprise.”

Rachel marches up to her. “Exactly how stupid are you, Quinn Fabray?”

“Um – sorry?” Quinn asks.

Rachel looks like she’s actually struggling to hold herself back from punching Quinn in the face. 

“You were in a near-fatal car accident you moron!” Rachel shouts. “And I’m guessing you didn’t even ask your doctor if this was safe.”

“Rachel, it’s been months,” Quinn points out. “I’m fine!”

“Really?” Rachel bites out, pointedly staring at the cast on Quinn’s arm.

“I can’t believe you’re mad about this!” Quinn shakes her head. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”

Rachel stares her down for a moment, before she grudgingly says, “Your planning could use a little work, but your execution was – impressive, I suppose.”

“Wow, easy on the glowing praise, Rach, you’re going to give me a big head.”

Rachel’s eyes narrow, and then she looks away. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?” Quinn asks, after a long moment of uneasy quiet.

Rachel chews on her bottom lip before squinting up at the sun. She sighs and says, “I think I need to do something right now. I was – hoping that it would just go away on its own but – “ she trails off with a grimace.

“Rachel, what are you talking about?”

Rachel rolls her eyes like just the sound of Quinn’s voice is irritating to her. Her face softens considerably a minute later and she looks up at Quinn with startlingly worried eyes.

“Please don’t hate me for doing this,” she says, her voice unsteady. “Also, please don’t hit me. Or, if you really feel the need, use your good hand. You’re still healing.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” Quinn says, thoroughly bewildered.

She thinks she hears Rachel say something along the lines of, “just wait,” but there’s no time to be sure because out of nowhere, Rachel’s hand is resting against the side of her neck. She tugs a little, but mostly rises up on her toes and then there’s slow, soft pressure against Quinn’s lips, and then there’s nothing.

Rachel backs off as quickly as she approached, and then tucks her arms into her sides, balling her hands into fists like she’s doing everything she can to hold herself back.

“Oh,” Quinn manages to squeak out. “Okay.”

Rachel manages to crack a weak smile at that. “You don’t want to hit me?”

“No,” Quinn says. She actually kind of wants to – 

“I don’t want to hit you.”

“Good,” Rachel exhales softly. 

It’s probably the wrong reaction but Quinn laughs. All this time – 

“You’re not going to let me drive the rest of the way, are you?”

Rachel cocks an eyebrow in her direction. “Not a chance.”

Quinn laughs again, and swings the driver’s side door wide. “Well come on, then.”

Rachel plucks the keys from Quinn’s outstretched fingers and ducks inside. Quinn swings around to the other side, and slides in just as Rachel is turning the keys. Quinn waits for the inevitable shift, and the drift along the driveway that should follow, but neither come. She looks over at Rachel who is already staring back.

“Seatbelt,” she says.

Quinn sighs and buckles herself in, and finally, they’re off.

Two streets later she has the strangest urge to reach across the console and take Rachel’s hand. It only takes her about three seconds of deliberation before she goes for it. Her cast is clunky and awkward, but Rachel meets her halfway and tucks her fingers around the plaster. 

It hurts a little bit, but that’s okay. It’s to be expected. She’s still healing.


End file.
